Pax Republica: A Star Wars MUSH

Physical Description

A young woman with a lot on her shoulders.

Character Background

You want to know who I am. Understandable. We all want to know who others are, because ultimately they shape our own selves. So to know who I am, you must first learn where I come from. I am Lilla Niral, Disciple of the Whills, daughter of Tesh and Kaiya Niral. They both were born a year apart on Alderaan, and taken to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant as toddlers. Their time at the temple and all that happened after makes for a web of stories, linking them and me to the greater galaxy. But neither of my parents were taken as Padawans. Instead, my father was sent to the Agricorps, and my mother became an archivist with research and archaeological specializations.

They came together on Alderaan, of all places, where my father was assigned to work with a grape cultivar, and my mother had been sent to document the research. It did not take them long to develop feelings for each other, feelings that were actively discouraged by their supervisors. This caused no small discontentment, and I think they still would have eventually left the Order. So you see, that is not my fault. But I can say that my conception was what led my parents to leave when they did. It was a whirlwind for them, leaving the life they’d known, finding new employment, finding a home, reconnecting with their families, getting married, and then…. me.

I don’t remember my birth. I don’t much remember anything from before I was five. I am told I was born on the spring equinox during a wild thunderstorm. I am told that my mother labored for a very long time. I am told that I was healthy and happy and prone to laughing. I am told a lot of things, and I assume that there is more truth than fiction in what I am told. I am also told that when I was just two, the Jedi came for me. But I was not there. I was never there when the Jedi came for me, and so I never came to the Temple on Coruscant. I am told that my parents wanted a different life for me, one with family and connections and more choices than they’d had in the Jedi Order. There was much they didn’t say, but on what I’ve learned I’ll keep my own counsel.

When I was five we went on an archaeological dig sponsored by the university in Aldera City. The planet is called Kaafi, just off a nebula in the Mid-Rim. A couple of farmers found pottery shards in their fields, and my parents were part of the expedition to study the find. I know from what I was told that the government did not inform the research team of a cult opposed the dig exploring the temple ruins that had been found. I know like a dim echo that the cultists attacked the village school, the school where we children of the research team were taken in to share lessons with the locals. In my dreams I see shadow-shapes and knives and blood. I see out of the doors of a cabinet. There is a thundering roar of yelling and screaming and crying. Then silence.

My own memories begin in a white bed. I am sore and weak and fearful, though all of these fade eventually. I know that there are people missing, but I can’t remember who. And I cannot speak. Over the next year, I am taken to many doctors, but none of them can help. My parents even take me to the Jedi, but luckily I am too old and too damaged to interest them enough to take me. They are kind, in a distant way, but have no solutions. Finally my parents end up in NiJedha, the Holy City, seeking solutions in the Force.

In the market, I felt a tug, a come-and-see sort of tug. So I followed it, and I am sorry to say I was thoughtless enough to get separated from my parents, causing them much grief and worry. The tug brought me to the Temple of the Kyber, the Temple of the Whills. There I first felt the balance between the warm sun and the icy shadows, between the sparkle on the surface of a crystal and its living heart. It was here that I fell to my knees and wept at the loss of all I still cannot remember, cleansing my heart of the darkness and the pain.

I was not there for the discussions my parents had with the Elders, with the Disciples or the Guardians. I was taken aside by Sorla, ancient Sorla with her immense lap and her warm arms. She started teaching me the physical signs and shapes of speech, returning words to me. It wasn’t a chore or a lesson, it was just…. being and doing. Soon other lessons followed, mundane ones of maths and science and history and more, and more arcane lessons of the Whills. Lessons of the Force. Not Jedi lessons, though somehow I already knew about meditation and self-discipline. But lessons all the same, about balance and compassion and the web that connects everything together. Lessons about the star-blazing crystals of kyber that hold the Force within them. A galaxy within and without, and the right crystal in our own hearts, and our hearts in the right crystal. This one around my neck, you see? Ice-blue, like dayshadow on snow, or the sky through clearing clouds. The crystal and myself and the Force, all together. Oneness.

My schooling and lessons were extensive and illuminating. For nine years we stayed half the year on Jedha, and the other half on Alderaan or some other world for safer expeditions. But more and more, Alderaan called to my parents. Jedha was not their home. They were not Disciples or Guardians, but faithful pilgrims. But I, at fifteen, returned for the first time to the steps of the temple without their physical presence, yet with their love and hopes and blessings, to become a Disciple myself. The Force had called me, and I had answered.

What followed were ten wonderful years, years of a new sort of exploration. Jedha is a harsh world, and if one will live, one learns to survive. Where there is community, one learns to thrive. I learned to survive and to thrive, both physically and spiritually. I learned how to play the soft-voiced temple flute, so that I might join in the morning and evening prayersongs. I learned how to make myself understood. I learned how to be Lilla Niral, and be at peace with her. I started helping pilgrims, acolytes, postulants, teaching them patience and compassion through my silence. Balance. Oneness. Joy.

I was on a waystation after returning pilgrims to their homes, transferring from one ship to another when the Jedi were struck down. I saw the dilapidated decks run slick and wet with blood. I know that I froze before instinct took over. I ran. I hid. I remained silent. And I lived. Obviously. The next few weeks were a nightmare of confusion. My parents were still safe, though often now I wonder when the Empire will find their names in some database or another and kill them too. The Republic was shattered overnight.

And now there is the Empire. Can you feel it in the Force like I can? A storm at its heart and darkness like a poison, twisting and killing what it touches. It has grown in the ten years since its bloody birth, and every day it becomes more powerful, less tolerant, more cruel. The darkness inside it is ripening like a fruit with wasps for seeds. Stormtroopers and Imperial officers spread throughout the shell of the Republic, and they arrest pilgrims when they can. They arrest people of faith in the Force, question them, send them back like echoes of themselves, or not at all. We shelter them here in NiJedha, the pilgrims, the scholars, even surviving Jedi when we can. But we can feel the dark reaching towards us, as if the Empire wishes to snuff out not just the knowledge of the Force, but the very Force itself.

So I strengthen myself and I give strength to others. I teach, I meditate, I grow in faith and aid others to grow. I help where I can, spreading webs of balance and light and peace instead. I am no warrior, but I am strong. I will not let all we believe in be devoured by the darkness. I will resist the evil spread by the Empire, because that is who I am. I am Lilla Niral. I am a Disciple of the Whills. I am one with the Force; the Force is with me.